


Hate Me

by ThatDamnKennedyKid



Category: Aquaman (2018), Batman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aquaman Played by Jason Momoa, Courtship, F/M, Female Bruce Wayne, Past Character Death, Royalty, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:34:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26022748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatDamnKennedyKid/pseuds/ThatDamnKennedyKid
Summary: Part of taking the Crown is taking a wife. He himself was a bastard, the product of an illicit love between a Queen and a lighthouse keeper. He doesn't see why he can't go about producing an heir or heiress the same way. He doesn't want to attend these stupid balls where shallow women in too many layers will mock-faint over his muscles.He already has the nocturnal woman on the docks, a lady bat far too drawn to the sea.
Relationships: Arthur Curry/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 32
Kudos: 114





	1. Break Me

Being the King was exhausting, and frankly, he didn't care too much for it. He'd only even bothered to take the position because his mother wanted him to, and he was as weak for her as his father was. 

Speaking of, actually -

"And I have to attend this fucking thing on the surface for what, exactly?"

"A wife." Atlanna reminded him gently but firmly, as though he hadn't put up the same resistance since this whole thing began. "A lady of the surface courts."

"Uh, why? Can't I just friend-marry Mera, pop out a kid to keep the nanny busy and go about my life?"

This time, Atlanna's glare almost burned off skin. "That you would consider to use her in such a fashion is revolting."

"When you initially brought this up, I asked her, actually." He scowled back. "I wouldn't just _assume._ I know you were at the bottom of the ocean for twenty years, but exactly what do you think Dad was teaching me?"

Atlanna's glare fell away. "I apologize. You're right - such an accusation is unworthy of both you and him."

He shrugged uncomfortably as she continued to adjust the ceremonial armour. "I did. Ask, that is. She said she would do it - she gets status and freedom. Then the Court pulls up this shit and throws a whole wrench into those plans."

"I can't say I understand why you're so adverse to a surface lover. You weren't willing to come down here for a long time."

He snorted. "You mean a wife. I'm striking a business deal for a sperm incubator."

Atlanna cuffed him upside the head. "Don't be crass."

"Am I wrong?" He pulled back from her, unwilling to let her tame his hair. "Or am I just supposed to pretend that this is less disgusting than it is? That I won't be going up there for what is, essentially, a transaction? Whoever the unlucky lady is, she's not going to _love_ me. She's going to politely tolerate me and use me for all she can, while I use her body to produce the one thing all the wealth in Atlantis can't buy me - a baby."

Atlanna's lips were pursed, but she didn't object. "There is always a chance you'll find love there."

"And if I find love in someone who's not of noble bearing? Does that void our little treaty?"

His mother looked away, her silence a ringing answer. 

"Yeah, I thought so." He grabbed his trident, already more riled than he wanted to be before he attended this fucking thing. 

"Good luck, Arthur."

"Yeah, thanks." He dismissed, turning away from her and leaving the palace, shooting up to the surface where he knew the shoreline was. 

| | | 

The party itself was . . . alright. 

Plenty of fancy shore-bound men and women pranced around in evening gowns with too many layers or suits without enough meat to the material of the pants. He liked a hardy denim himself, and leather. They didn't spoil in the sea, and he just looked damned good in them. 

His only consolation was that his race wasn't the only one with a treaty with the humans - the Amazons apparently had something similar, and their Crown Princess, Diana, was here looking for a sperm donor of her own. It was almost a shame that he couldn't come to an arrangement with her - they would have probably grown to be good friends, if not fantastic lovers. But alas, neither of them were so fortunate. 

Halfway through the night, however, Diana's attention was captured by a charming man with blonde hair and blue eyes so bright they leapt off his face. She's been in deep conversation with him about military strategy for over two hours, and the look on her face said she may very well keep this one. 

He wished he'd been so lucky, that some alluring woman would walk out of nowhere and steal his breath. But tonight it was all the same faces as usual, with the usual bland flirting and blatant propositioning. The whole affair was graceless and ugly, despite the layer of glamour spread over the whole affair. Cattle auctions had more dignity, he thought, because at least they were honest about their purpose. 

He broke away from the group of tittering, flighty dolts that had got caught on him like seaweed on driftwood and went to a balcony. The humans used them for fresh air, to escape the stuffy rooms and speak more honestly in the quiet. He just hopped the railing and saw himself out. 

His time wasn't up yet, and if he went back too early, Atlanna would scold him. He didn't want to be more upset with her than this night already made him, so he just wandered casually over to the docks he would depart from, keeping an eye on the water and maybe snagging a beer if there was a bar around for the sailors. 

When he got there, he found he wasn't alone. 

A woman stood on the far end, staring out over the water with grim stillness. What little of her skin was visible - the bottom half of her face and a sliver of her neck - were pale, and the clothes she wore were all black. The closer he got, he realized she wasn't in a dress, but worn pants and the remainder of a hooded cape, the very cape who's hood was responsible for covering the top half of her face. She also had long dark hair - possibly black as well - hanging down over her breasts, nearly reaching her hips. 

"Bit late for a lady to be wandering the docks, yeah?" He called out, still a respectable distance away. 

She didn't move, merely continued to stare in sullen silence. 

"I hope you don't mind too much, but I'm going to take a nap on these crates." He said, hopping up on a stack of crates next to her. "Wake me in an hour, if you don't mind?"

Slowly, like her neck was rusted, she nodded once in acknowledgement. 

"Thanks. I owe you one."

| | | 

A gentle, callused hand shook him awake, and for a second he forgot where he was, and why he would be there. 

The woman in black stepped back, illuminated coldly by the high-hung moon. What little of her face was passive and emotionless, cold but also melancholy. 

"Speed away, your Grace." She said, voice a low, melodic tenor, like the left-of-centre ivories on a piano. "Full night in Gotham is indeed an ugly thing."

"What's the time?"

"Two in the morning hours, by my reckoning." She replied, turning away. "You'd best go, before the glint of your gold makes fingers itch."

"Thanks. Can I ask you something, though?"

She stopped walking away from him, the only sign she was listening.

"What are you doing out here?"

"Make a habit of those questions, Atlantean, and you will find Gotham an unforgiving mistress."

"Good thing I didn't ask Gotham, now did I?"

She turned to face him, a broken smirk on her lips. "Are you so certain?"

He stood up to face her properly and she ducked behind a crate taller than she. He rounded it to continue their conversation, but found nothing. 

"Weird-ass land phantoms." He shivered, though not for the chill in the air. Dad spoke of these ghosts - ones lost to the sea or ones who the sea had stolen loved ones from. Dad used to say he would become one on his own wharf - always coming out to see Atlanna, whether or not she came for him. 

Regardless, it was a good enough hour to pretend he'd tried to socialize, so he dove back in the water and back down to the deep.

* * *

Every successive event, he walked himself out to the Gotham docks and found that same strange woman there. 

"What's your name?" He asked her one evening, sharing a companionable silence alongside an unusually tame tide. Gotham tides were always harsh and loud, the rocks under the bay being high, sharp and ruthless. 

"I'm not inclined to give it." She replied.

"Fair." He hummed, assessing her. "What can I call you?"

"The sailors call me the Bat of Gotham." She replied. It had taken quite a bit of work to get her to speak, though not as much as he'd anticipated. 

"The Batwoman. Fitting." He didn't stand or approach her. She had an aura, the distinct presentation that she didn't desire physical contact, or even prospective closeness. She seemed wounded by it, even if she pretended it angered her instead. He'd not done it, but an over-familiar, drunken sailor had been thrown into the bay for his troubles, and he wasn't intent on getting on her bad side. 

"Yours?"

"Mine?"

"Your name."

"Ah." He grinned. "Should I have an alias as well? Make these little meetings more clandestine?"

"Should you feel the need." She answered in a bored tone, though her lips had quirked up. 

"Aquaman, then."

"Your originality requires work, Atlantean."

He snorted. "Better than merely 'Atlantean'."

"I suppose so."

"The Aquaman and the Batwoman, friends on a pier."

"Friends, are we?" She mused. 

"I don't see anyone else here, do you?"

She grew sombre. "No, I do not."

He sat up, but didn't move closer. He wanted to - something about this lonely woman had his attention - but he knew she would slip from between his fingers should he do so. "So I was right the first time. Someone died."

Her mouth twisted bitterly. "Everyone died."

"On the water?"

"The sea is the only place that hasn't taken someone from me." She groused, much more emotion in her inflection than usual. 

Oh, so not quite what he was thinking then. Still, this was progress. "You have my condolences. Has it been many years or is the wound still fresh?"

"Can't it be both?"

"Of course it can." He returned, gentling his voice as much as he could without becoming condescending. "When I was sure my mother had abandoned me, I never stopped feeling it."

She inclined her head. "I wish they were merely elsewhere."

He studied her for a long moment before standing, circling her at his usual wide berth, coming to a stop in front of her. He extended his hand, but moved no closer. "Then perhaps you should be elsewhere in their stead."

He couldn't tell where, exactly, she was looking, but he felt her gaze on his outstretched palm like a physical thing. "Perhaps another time, Aquaman. All I feel right now is the urge to drown."

He straightened. "Is that what you come here to do? Contemplate it?"

"No. I won't." She replied, staunch. "Why would I give up the one thing I wish they still had? Unless my own death would return them to the world, I will continue to live on in their stead."

"No matter the pain." He murmured, adding what she failed to. 

"My pain is insignificant." She shot back. 

"Doesn't sound it."

"You don't know who I am."

"Neither do you." He raised en eyebrow. "But perhaps we should."

"I am not keen on this discussion tonight."

 _I'm too fragile,_ he knew she wanted to say, to explain, _I'll shatter at the mercy of your words._

"Not a problem." He sat down on the edge of the pier, letting his legs dangle into the cold water. "I'm in no rush."

| | | 

Coming up of his own volition had been a strange experience, especially since it wasn't to see his father or visit the village where he grew up.

"Should I ever dare to hope for a subtle bone in your body?" Batwoman groused, in her regular place. 

"Nah." He laughed. "Too much work. Don't know how - or why - you do it."

She didn't answer, remaining as stock still as she always was. He didn't know why he felt this way, but it was like there was some sort of rapport building between them, some unspoken trust and sentiment. 

"You never did answer whether or not you wanted to go for a swim."

"Gotham Bay is freezing at the height of summer, Aquaman." She levelled him with a playful glare he could feel more than see. Despite being a subterranean sea-dweller with excellent eyesight, the deep shadows of her hood and the dark of their location kept all but the liquid glint of her eyes from him. "Are the negotiations you came up for concluded?"

"Negotiations?" He snorted. "That's a nice way to put them."

She twitched towards him. "If not that, then what?"

"Marriage." His lips twisted in a sneer. "Some stipulation of that fucking thing says I gotta have a land-bound baby mama."

"You've been coming here for months."

"Yeah, and Diana had the fucking nerve to bail on me." He muttered. 

"Was she the one you were interested in?"

"In another life, maybe." He offered a grin. "Though, personally, I find you just as - if not more - attractive than her. Nah, she was the Princess of Themiscyra. Looking for her own sperm generator for her people's own treaty. Even if we wanted to, hooking up would never have been a good idea. 'Sides, Steve's good to her and a handsome man. Might have played with him myself if she hadn't gotten there first."

She nodded. The information seemed to bring her to some unspoken decision. 

"I've gotta ask," He sidled up to her, close enough to reach out and touch her if she wanted him to, "are you also metahuman?"

"What gave you that impression?"

"Well, the moniker, the dark look, the way you can just disappear when someone pisses you off." He shrugged. "Can't blame me for guessing."

"And if I were, what do you think I would be?"

"A wraith, maybe? Possibly a witch? Maybe a vampire, since you hide from all light?"

She chuckled. "No, I am none of those things. Merely human with plenty of training."

"Feel like showing me?"

She turned to face him. "You want to run the roofs of Gotham with me?"

"I'm metahuman." He replied with a smirk. "I can do damn near anything."

"That remains to be seen." She spun abruptly on her heel. "Follow me, then."

| | | 

He was offended that she didn't even seem winded. She ran him from the vault-ceiling cathedrals of the noble districts down to the thatched tenement houses, like an inky ghost, scaling the crumbling walls with ease, feet like a whisper of wind along the stone. 

"You're certain?" He panted when she finally came to a stop, atop a towering cathedral deep in the heart of the city. "You're certain you're not metahuman?"

"If I was, I wouldn't have wasted so much of my youth learning to do these things, or spared so much of my adulthood to perfect them." She replied, coming to a stop on the edge of the roof that faced the sea. 

"Pfft, yeah, why didn't I think of that." He huffed. "Because I totally knew you've dedicated your life to becoming a badass."

"Hardly bad." She returned. "Definitely an ass, however."

"I'd say." He winked. "I'm almost grateful you left me in the dust so often, gave me a great view."

"I'm far from the finest specimen in Gotham." She answered. "I'm sure many of those ladies at you ball would be wounded to hear you would downplay the forms they spend so much time perfecting."

He waved her off. "Your ass is only, like, a quarter of the reason I'm interested in you."

"And the other three quarters?" She tossed over her shoulder. 

He held up one finger, lifting another for each additional point. "Great fashion sense, smart as all fuck, fantastic conversationalist-" She snorted, "-and a body I just wanna-"

He broke off, not exactly willing to endanger this tentative friendship with the fantasies he'd whispered to the sea after she was gone. 

She twisted, looking at him more intently, but without hostility. "That you want to-?" She prompted.

Unconsciously, his hands lifted towards her, making an aborted grabbing motion before he noticed and forced them back down to his sides. "I don't know if I should. I don't want to- to throw this away over sex."

She crossed her arms. "And I told you to continue. If I were uncomfortable or unwilling, I would not spare your feelings in informing you so."

"Yeah, I s'pose you wouldn't." He took a deep breath, eyes unwittingly wandering her body. "I wanna run my hands all over you, just feel all of you, everywhere. I wanna press as much of you against me as I can, just so I can enjoy all those muscles I know you're hiding under there. God's above and below-" He blew out a breath, "-I just really want to kiss you in the water."

"In the water?" She sounded almost amused by the fantasy. 

"Yeah." He swallowed. "I want you soaked, all that leather and cotton clinging to you, your hair plastered to your chest, or your back. I'd hold you up, weightless in the sea, or against the pier, or the beach, and just kiss you senseless."

"Very benign, as fantasies go." She mused. 

"What can I say, I'm a romantic." He managed a self-depreciating grin. "It's my father in me."

"So you are Thomas Curry's son."

He smarted. "You know my dad?"

"In a manner of speaking." She answered vaguely. "He works at the lighthouse, yes?"

"Uh, yeah, he does." He cocked his head. "How old are you?"

"Does it matter?"

"Not really. The bottom half of your face doesn't look old."

"That would be because I'm in my mid-thirties." She offered a wicked grin. "Much, much too old to be amongst the women offered to you, I'm afraid."

"Yeah, because I want some shivering eighteen-year-old, too shit-terrified of me to say fuck all if she was on fire."

"She'd give you heirs, and she doesn't have to be more than that."

"I _want_ the woman I call wife to mean something." He spit, all the sentiments he'd kept hidden from Atlanna and Mera coming up. Only Thomas knew of his feelings, and his father had reassured him that love would find him eventually. "I don't give a Damn whether I have kids or what, but I want the one I marry to be there because she wants to be, not because she needs to be."

Batwoman assessed him for a long time, the wind from this high up whipping her cloak around. She approached him carefully, reaching up with one gloved hand to stroke the tender skin just above his beard. "How long will you continue to go?"

"I'll go until Atlanna gets sick of me coming home empty-handed." He replied, leaning forward so it wasn't as much of a stretch for her. This was the closest he'd ever been to her, and despite the clean scent of exercise sweat and human warmth, there was another lingering aroma - well-worn leather with some deeply ingrained floral hint, worn enough on her skin to seep into the treated hide. Her breath, even, was clean and warm. "Until I get to make my own choices."

He can see so much of her face now, with it tilted up to the sky. Her lips and high cheekbones, straight nose and hard-set jaw. Whatever he feels for her, blooming as it is, only manages to grow and expand in his chest. This enigma of a woman, worming her way in where no-one else had yet dared. 

They hadn't even exchanged names. 

"Perhaps another option will present itself."

"At the ball? Unlikely." She was so close - the temptation to kiss her was just short of overwhelming. "But I don't want one of those women anyway."

"What do you want, Aquaman?" She returned, soothing voice taken on a husky quality. 

"I wasn't kidding." He stepped just a little closer, nearly chest-to-chest. "I want to kiss you."

"We're not near the ocean." 

"I never specified I had to kiss you there first, just that I want to eventually."

"You don't know me."

"And you don't know me." He pointed out, unable to tear his gaze away from her lips. "Can I kiss you? Touch you?"

"Yes."

Carefully, as if she might startle and vanish, he wrapped one arm around her waist, the other rising to cup her jaw. His breath was unsteady, nerves sparking to life. 

Her arms found their way around his neck and she made the decision for him, one hand fisting in his hair, the other's finger clawing into his back, pulling him down into a fierce and nearly violent kiss. He groaned, feeling it down to his bones, and backed her up against one of the spires, hoisting her up with the arm that had been around her waist, then hooking it under her thighs. 

Her mouth tasted like raspberries, tart and refreshing, and he wanted to savour it all. He pressed her hard against the brickwork, a fierce shudder rushing over him when she wrapped he legs around his hips. 

"I adore your hair." She admitted when they broke apart, breathing the same air. 

"Feel free." He grinned, nosing underneath her jaw to kiss, nibble and suck on that tender alabaster skin. "I like a good yank on it, myself."

"I haven't the same fondness."

"That's fine. Prefer to get it pulled rather than to pull anyway." He admitted, not an ounce of shame to him. Gods, she slotted into his body so perfectly, just small enough to fit, strong enough he wasn't afraid. "Can I- marks?"

"Yes, you can bite." She replied, giving a yank hard enough to wrench his head back and make him groan. 

"Fuck, I can't wait for you to do that once I've got my head between your legs."

"You seem awfully sure you will."

"You and I have been dancing around each other for eight months, Batwoman." He drove back in and kissed her soundly, unable to keep his head enough to also keep the rolling of his hips to himself. "If you didn't want me, I would have never gotten this far."

She ran both hands through his hair, pulling him back to face her once more. "You would be good to me, wouldn't you?"

"So good." He reassured, the muscles in his arms ripping from squeezing her. "I'd make sure I was the best fucking thing to ever happen to you. Will you let me?"

"Not tonight." She gentled him back down, their kisses full of surrender and sweetness. "Not tonight."

He sucked another mark high on her neck, just to be contrary, and scraped his beard low along her collarbone, the skin flushing red and growing hot. 

She didn't tell him to stop, nor did she complain. She simply let herself hang there, in the cradle of his arms, as it started to rain. 

"Do you want me to let you go?" He asked. 

"Do you think I could remain in Gotham without being able to tolerate a little rain?" She joked. "It's barely even cold."

He knew that wasn't true - Gotham, for some reason, always swam in icy waters no matter the season or time of day. He had, after all, begun to attend these forsaken balls during the winter months. He'd initially wondered why, of all the cities, the balls were held here, in this dour hellhole. Being a port city, as well as in roughly the centre of the treatied world, meant that Gotham was also the impromptu backdrop of all major political events, rather than better city-states, like Metropolis, Star City or even Blüdhaven. So, as a Gotham native, Batwoman likely didn't find this chilled rain to be much of anything, other tha a nuisance on a nice night. The bachelorettes from further inland would find it absolutely miserable and would (and had) complained bitterly about it. What they wanted to gain from it, he had no idea. Atlantis' waters were just as icy, and he didn't feel any of it - just annoyance that these candidates would continue to harp on it. 

Not her, though. Never her. 

He brought her into another kiss, loving her all the more each minute that passed. 

"It's nearly time for you to return." She said quietly, as if she didn't want to be the bearer of bad news. 

"I don't want to go." He rubbed their noses together. "I'm going to wake up, come back to the surface and realize you were a dream all along."

"I will be here." She assured. "As I always am."

"You better be." He breathed, stealing one last, long moment with her pressed close before letting her down and trailing her back to the docks. 

"When do you return next?"

He paused at the water's edge, looking back at her. The downpour slid off her hood the way it would off a roof, like a veil across her face. She's never asked him this before, jusjust always been there when he came to the docks. "Three days, around seven. I go early to get away from Atlanna's fussing."

She nodded, reaching up once more to place her hand on his chest, right in the gap between his tattoos. "I will be waiting."

He smiled, unable to contain himself, dipping under her hood to press one last fluttering kiss to her lips, then diving back into the water. If he stayed too long, he was in danger of never leaving again.

* * *

The balls were beautiful, all the men and women in radiant attire. Sparkles and jewels were everywhere, and he was not exactly an exception. 

His formal attire was a scaled suit of armour, a deep green-grey with golden patterns. The trident on his back would have given him away even if the clothing choices didn't, and the women in the ballroom flocked to him, only a few of them taking the hint of his indifference to them for what it was and allowing him a moment of peace. 

An old dowager was doing her best to run through a list of her daughters and granddaughters when a low voice silenced the room. 

"You were never one to be put out by a glazed look, were you, Annette?"

He snapped back into reality, finding the women who'd been fondling his arms and swooning had backed off, heads bowed. The dowager, Annette apparently, also jolted back as if he'd scalded her. 

"Duchess!" Annette bowed, and a great many of the people around him did too.

The woman they were bowing to was in an entirely black gown that was less flamboyant than everything else he'd seen, equally black hair pulled up into a tidy and elegant bun resting behind her head. Her sleeves were long, and her neckline was high, though it was only lace from the bosom up. 

"I'm honoured you've attended, though I had no idea you were coming, nor that you had arrived!"

"As was my intention." The Duchess replied simply, her expression flat and unimpressed. "I had heard that there was a gentleman suitor who had yet to walk off with a bride, and I had to see the specimen for myself."

"Of course!" Annette squeaked. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"To never let such a shameful display of desperation ever grace the face of my city again."

"Absolutely, absolutely!" Annette bowed again and ushered the girls away. 

"Wow." He laughed. "I wish that was my superpower, holy shit."

The Duchess offered a wane smile in return. "Reputation, your Grace, is not hard to come by. Many in this hall think your persuasion is for men."

He smirked. "I've got no real preference, personally. Unfortunately, only a woman can bear a kid for me, unless you know any two-souled men about?"

She blinked, then lowered her voice. "Two-souled ones are generally not welcomed here, especially among the upper classes. While they exist, they are not allowed to present themselves as such. For your own sake, don't bring them up."

"Did you know someone like that?"

"Indeed." She met his gaze, unashamed. "The third of my sons, Timothy. He married the nephew of Lord Kal-El, Kon."

"Third?" He raised an eyebrow as he swept an approaching eye down her form. "You're, what, thirty-something? A son of marriage age seems doubtful, let alone a third son."

"I never said I gave birth to them."

"Ah. A widow?"

"Alone." She replied. 

"Me too. Tell me about them, your kids."

"There were many." A sense of melancholy so close to Batwoman's sunk into his skin. "All of them orphans at one point or another."

He offered her his arm. "A walk, then? Away from the bustle?"

"Let's." She wrapped her arm around his and the two walked off, to the silent and poisonous glare of Annette and the whole finishing school's worth of women surrounding her. 

| | | 

The Duchess began to haunt his thoughts like Batwoman did, both of them with a dark, fervent allure and intoxicating otherness that suited him just fine. 

The Duchess told him about her many children who had all managed to die in one way or another.

Her eldest was a circus acrobat, and she had been in attendance at the show where his parents had perished. Richard Grayson had been his name, and the fond whistfulness she spoke of him with made him believe that he would have loved the young man. 

"He was young when he was taken from me." She frowned. "Newly twenty-one, freshly engaged to Princess Koriandr, and shot dead in the streets by a rival of mine."

"Who?"

"One Mister Slade Wilson."

"The Lord Assassin of the League of Shadows?"

"Formerly, yes. I was a favourite of R'as al Ghul, the one he wanted to sire an heir with, the one who would unseat all the work he'd done in courting R'as' daughter Talia." Her mouth twisted in disdain. "I had turned down R'as' offer, so I'm barely even certain of what he had to gain shooting Dick. But he did so, and the shot was through my son's head."

"What did you do then?"

"I got my revenge." But she refused to elaborate more on that.

Next was Jason Todd, another orphan of no standing to whom she bestowed title and affection. 

"You've heard of the Joker, yes? The bloodthirsty psychopath?"

He was fairly certain he knew that was going to happen next. "Oh no."

"Yes, they're the very same." She nodded at his stricken expression. "Joker killed Jason with a crowbar, and I was the one they found throttling the final dregs of life from that useless husk."

"So you're the infamous Bryce Wayne." His already instant respect for her authority turned to hearty admiration. "I didn't know you knew the child."

"No one did. I hadn't had him for long." She gestured to a gloved hand. "I'm told I was soaked in blood, but no one could tell me whose it was: Jason, who I held as he lay dying, or Joker, whom I held down as I killed him."

"I'm glad you did."

She huffed. "You would be the only one. I was no longer a suitable candidate for a match after that, and I was more than content with that. The court has seen me differently ever since. All save Koriandr, who still visits. She proclaimed herself a widow after Dick's death, and she grieved with me for Jason, barely seventeen."

"I'm sorry."

"Next came Kimberly Drake, who came to me seeking to be himself, to be acknowledged for who and what he truly was - two-souled. Then his own parents perished in a fire, and I introduced him to the Court when he came of age as Timothy Drake. He fell in love with Kon-El nearly instantly, and the El never batted an eye at Tim's secret, nor called him by the wrong name or pronouns. Kon was the best thing that happened to my son, and I was certain that I would see at least one child to happiness. They married as soon as they were able, and it was soon after that Tim came with child."

"Is it alive?"

"Oh yes. A sweet baby girl, Kar-El." She looked down and smiled. "She looks exactly like Tim did as Kim, and Kon loves her with all his heart. He's a truly devoted father. He moved in with Koriandr to help raise her, and they shower her in love."

"What happened to Tim?"

"Kar's birth claimed his life." She admitted. "He hemorrhaged uncontrollably, and he had precious little consciousness left to see his daughter before dying. His final words were to Kon, to tell him not to blame himself or their daughter for this act of the gods."

He ducked his head. "That sounds terrible."

"It was." She looked up at the stars. "Next came Barbara, who was the daughter of the Commissioner. He was a good man, and she was a good girl. She wasn't truly my daughter, never lived with me, but when she died it killed me just as much as it did Gordon. The three of us were close, and I felt it as keenly as I had for Dick, Jason and Tim. I invited her girlfriend, Kate Kain, to live with me. She died some months later from terminal illness."

He was starting to get a better picture of her dark life, and he wondered if this is what Batwoman had also meant when she said all her family was dead. 

"After Kate came Stephanie Brown, Cassandra Cain and Duke Thomas. I adopted all three at the same time, and they all perished together." Her smile was self-defeating. "I had them for a year, just about used to them running amongst my skirts. With my butler and oldest family member, Alfred Pennyworth, they travelled into the city to shop and spend time and money. A runaway cart took all four over the bridge leading to Metropolis. The bodies were never recovered from the river."

He winced. She said it like it happened so long ago, but how could it have? She didn't deserve this.

"I haven't touched a child since." She said, light and airy, as though she didn't wade through the ghosts of loved ones with every step. "I've not touched anyone. Whatever curse I possess, I've no inclination to pass it on."

"You're not cursed."

"Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, thrice is a pattern. What is nine times, my Lord?"

He had no answer. 

She smiled, tragic and resigned. "I do my best to let go. I wonder, too, what would have happened if I would have done as society bid me - marry and stay home. Would fate have found some way to kill my child in my own home? My husband? Most likely. So now, I dare not."

"Perhaps a friendship, then?" He offered. "I'm not going anywhere soon, and it would do me well to have company, I think."

"I will ward off any prospects, I assure you. They'll be expecting you to die with every passing minute."

"Good. Maybe they'll leave me the fuck alone."

A burst of startled laughter overtook her and he found her even more delightful. "I'll have to do as the King commands, then."

"Please do."

* * *

He spent the next three months in the company of the Duchess, getting more and more affronted gazes, cowed the second they made eye contact with Bryce. As greedy as they may be for the opportunities being his wife would unlock, none of them were even close to willing to challenge the Duchess of Gotham, their effective ruler since the line of kings had died out two centuries earlier. And every night he was surface-bound, he left the balls to go find Batwoman, standing set on the pier in her usual place. She smelled more floral than she used to, but he put it off. Maybe it mattered more to her now, what with the gentle touches and crazy kissing. 

And that brought him the greatest conundrum - how was he supposed to love two women at the same time? One, the Duchess, he could effectively marry if she were open to the idea and keep for himself without contest. But the Batwoman offered no such easy fix, and she was the one he would go so far as to say he loved. She was the one he would have offered his hand to if she'd been lurking in those high-vaulted halls. So, there he remained, torn between two women from vastly different worlds and feeling like he was cheating both of them. And that crisis of conscience meant there was only one thing left to do:

It was time to go visit his dear ol' Pops. 


	2. Crush Me

"Both of them?" Thomas asked, setting his mug down on the bar. 

"Both of them." He agreed, grimacing. 

"It's the Bat that you love." 

"Yeah."

"But you think you could love the Duchess with very little effort."

"Yup."

Thomas blew out his cheeks. "That is quite the predicament, son."

"Don't I know it." He hung his head. "It's almost worse in Atlantis, because Atlanna's starting to get annoyed with me. She wants me to hurry up, to get married soon. I just- I can't do it. Well, I would marry Bryce. In a heartbeat. But then she's there and I-" 

"Your heart runs both ways?" Thomas prompted softly. 

"I don't know what to do." He muttered. "Mom could close her eyes and think of duty or whatever the fuck she did to make Orm, but I'm just not like that. Orm says it makes me soft, and I know Mera thinks that too. She would have no issues being a ruthless-ass queen, and I really wish, sometimes, that it were that easy. If it were, I'd marry her, give her a kid, then just give my heart to Bats."

"You don't even know her name."

"I thought of that too." He raised his head and propped it up on his fist, staring down at the amber liquid still in his glass. "And the more I think about it, the less I care. I don't give a shit if she's horrifically disfigured, if she's a murderer, if she's a fuckin' _ghost_. She's the one I want. I'd whisk her away, make her high-born and keep her forever. I'd do to her what Mom wanted to do to you."

Thomas' face twisted a little in a grimace. "I knew that would end badly. And I never wanted to be a liability. Atlanna can come see me whenever she wants, and I'll be waiting."

"Bats waits like that too. Every night, she's there." He sighed, dismayed. "I just want to hold her forever."

Thomas nudged him with his own shoulder. "You know, I've met Duchess Wayne before."

"You have?"

Thomas nodded. "I have. And a couple of her sons. Timothy and his husband Connor, I think they were. I also met Duke Richard before his passing. Bryce is a very caring woman, and a lot younger than you'd think, with all the weight on her shoulders. There was rumour when she was younger about why she didn't come to the courtship balls on time. She was out of Gotham as a teenager, and returned late, twenty-three perhaps. No one knew where, exactly, she had been, but there were rumours that she was off learning to fight, taking up with assassins so that the same kind of poor chane that befell her parents would never happen to her, and any children she may have in the future."

That would explain Bryce's harsh, unyielding demeanour, though he wasn't sure that couldn't be explained just by the stunning amount of tragedies in her life. "What do you think?"

"I think Lady Bryce has always been a fighter, deep down in her bones, and I think that she did take up with the League like they say." Thomas downed the rest of the beer in his mug. 

"How does that make my choice any clearer? You're just whispering gossip about the ruler of Gotham."

Thomas clapped him on the shoulder. "I think that if there was anyone that would pull the secrets from Bryce Wayne, my boy, you would be the one. Hell, maybe the Duchess and the Batwoman have more in common than you think."

He laid his head on his father's shoulder. "I came here for help, Pops."

"Unfortunately, kiddo, my heart only knew how to love one woman, and she's your mother." Thomas stroked his hair. 

"Is this one of those _growing experiences_ I've heard so much about?" He grumbled. 

Thomas had the gall to laugh at him. "I'm afraid so. Only you can decide which of them you love, and when you do decide, you have to stick to your guns and not look back - a clean choice with no regrets."

"I don't know if I can manage that." He didn't know what he would do if Bryce were to accept a proposal, if he would be able to tell Batwoman that he was leaving, married, and not coming back. That the love shared in the small space between their parted lips had come to an end. And he wasn't sure he could commit to kissing Bryce the same way, that he could hold her in his arms and not think about the leather-clad enigma on shore, comparing the way their bodies fit together. Wondering, always wondering if something could have been different.

"You'll have to." Thomas replied sombrely. "It's an ugly business being a king. Atlanna would know a lot more about having that kind of autonomy stolen. But for the sake of your heart and your mind, you can't let your imagination take you back to places you can't return to. The longing for lost things will drive you mad."

"You longed for Mom."

"I had lost something I'd had, not missing something I'd never had." Thomas gently bumped their foreheads. "It's a critical difference, my son."

He had no response for that, so he didn't speak.

* * *

She pushed his hair back, taking in his panting breaths and glazed eyes. "Tell me what's on your mind."

He smiled, dopey and content. "I like having you in my arms."

"That can't be all."

"Can't it be?" He nuzzled into her throat, letting his beard scrape along the delicate skin. "Can't I just enjoy your body against mine? Get drunk on the way you kiss me?"

"I imagine that if anyone could, it would be you." She mused, sounding fond. "But that isn't all that's on your mind. I can tell - you're more distracted than usual."

"I visited my father the last time I was to the surface. Needed some advice." He shrugged. "I'm still just mulling over what he told me."

"Advice about?" She cocked her head. 

"Love." He answered, immediately feeling like those four little letters might rat him out more than they should. 

"I see." She pulled back some. "I shouldn't pry, then."

"No, no, you totally can. You're involved, after all." Gods above and below, what was it going to take to shut his mouth. 

"You can't love me, Aquaman." 

"Can so."

"No, you can't. You don't know my name, my history, my lineage, nor am I going to share them with you. I don't know yours, and neither will I ask them of you. This, whatever it is between us, is no more than a fleeting moment. Once you've chosen, our dalliance will end."

He winkled his nose. "Not if I can help it."

"Don't be absurd." She chastised. "You must choose someone proper - your people come before anyone and anything else."

He frowned. "Doing the best thing as a king doesn't - and shouldn't - have to be mutually exclusive to what is best for _me_."

She cupped his face, a strange gravity to her voice. "And what happens when it is? Which do you put first? If your choice was to save your queen, or save your kingdom, which would you choose?"

He pursed his lips, not liking where this was going. "I'd find a way to save both."

"There's not always a way to stop those you love from leaving you behind." She stroked his cheekbone. "No matter how strong, so matter how powerful, no matter how well-intentioned you may be. And some things are smaller than that, but just as important. This treaty of yours is essential to maintaining the peace surrounding the islands, mainlands and seas. There is no way to escape it, and no wiggle room."

"Bats-"

She pulled back from him. "We were only ever destined to be a memory, a wistful flicker of thought in a quiet moment. The sooner you accept that, the happier you will be."

He shook his head, unable to believe that she would _say_ this. "This can't be what you want. It _can't_ be."

She turned away from him. "I should never have allowed it to progress this far."

"Bats, please, just _listen to me_ -"

She walked to the edge of the building, her back still to him. "This will go no further. I wish you and your wife well. Farewell, Atlantean."

"No, wait, please, don't do this to me-" He wasn't fast enough to catch her before she dropped off the edge of the building, disappearing into the Gotham murk. He knew he would never find her if she didn't want to be found, his metahuman Atlantean blood and predestined status as Ocean Master and King of Atlantis be _damned_. 

Sitting on the edge of a cathedral's roof, her warmth fading from his skin and her taste lingering on his tongue, he held his heart in his hands, watching helplessly as it shattered, falling through his fingers like water. 

| | | 

"You seem less yourself as of late." 

He didn't have to turn around to know it was Bryce standing at the balcony's doorway, and he didn't bother to face her. "Sorry."

"No need to apologize." She came to stand beside him, awash in regal flair. "I take no offense to your mood. I'm more concerned for you than anything."

His shoulders slumped. "Have you ever been in love with someone, Bryce?"

She gazed out over the dark gardens. "Yes. But he wasn't for me to have, and I let him go."

He laughed mirthlessly. "Yeah, I get that. That's what happened to me."

"What do you mean?"

He took a shuddering breath, tormented with indecision. He'd decided after his talk with his father that he was going to pursue Batwoman, even if he had to make up a fucking identity for her. He wanted her, no matter what. But he also knew that if he'd have never met Batwoman, Bryce would have been his unequivocal choice. She was beautiful, strong, wise, kind, intelligent, commanding and had become a very close and trusted friend at these awful balls. He hardly talked to anyone else, and he could fill the whole time speaking with her. There wasn't anything about himself that he'd hidden from Bryce, except Batwoman. And even though any chances with Batwoman were gone - she hadn't been at the docks the last couple of times he'd been up - he wasn't so sure he was ready to spoil his friendship and possible chance with Bryce by bringing up his broken-ass heart. If he were completely honest with himself, the _only_ woman he would have ever considered walking away from these balls with was Bryce. 

A gentle hand broke him from his thoughts, Bryce's lace-clad fingers stroking over his cheek. "Arthur?"

"Everything's all knotted up in my chest." He admitted. "There's so much I want to say, and I don't know how to say any of it."

He was surprised when Bryce wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close so his head rested against her breast, comforting him. After a moment, he wrapped his arms around her too, crushing her tightly against him and lifting her clean off her feet. She didn't seem to mind, only acknowledging her new seating arrangement on the railing by kissing the top of his head. 

"I won't hold any feelings you have against you." She promised. "No matter what has happened or what is to happen, tonight, I lend you an open mind and a keen ear."

He chuckled wetly against her collarbone - for someone so modest, she certainly had a flair for pretentious language - and let himself enjoy the reassuring contact. "I dunno. I always manage to put my foot in my mouth when I speak."

"I'm not lying to you, Arthur. Speak your mind, and I will listen. There's no need for judgment or condemnation."

"Even if you're mixed up in it?" He had to know before he spoke.

She ran delicate fingers over the scar on his eyebrow. "Even so."

He stirred up his courage enough to speak, though it wasn't enough to look her in the eye. "There was a woman I met on the docks, a couple of months before you showed up here. It started out just . . . wasting time on the pier. She always seemed to be there, always in the deep of the night, no matter the hour. She was . . . I don't know. She just had this air to her that drew me in, and she wasn't intimidated at all by me being Atlantean. We became friends of a sort, I guess, but it felt like so much more. I'd-" He took a deep breath. "I'd decided to go after her. I was going to broach the subject with her, but she- she told me that she was only a dalliance, and that if she was distracting me from picking a wife, then she was done with me. She disappeared, and I-"

She stroked his head through the shuddering sobs he tried to keep a hold of. No one else he knew, except probably his father, who would understand how he felt. She just held him, quiet and heartbeat steady. 

"I'm in love with her, and I know that since she doesn't want to be found, I'll never see her again." He squeezed her waist. "And then, on the other side, there's you."

"Me?" Bryce asked lowly. 

"If I'd have never met her, if I hadn't let my heart get away from me so easily, I would ask you to marry me."

"I'm an old Duchess, Arthur. Surely you could do better."

"I don't give a _damn_ about better. I like you, so much. You'd make a fantastic High Born, and it would be so, so easy to fall in love with you."

"But she got you first."

He closed his eyes. "Yeah."

"There's no need to be ashamed of that." She soothed. "One's heart is ever in their own control."

"Does it bother you?"

"Hmm?"

"That I- My feelings."

"Oh." She stroked his hair. "Not at all. All of our loves, past a present, take as much from our heart as they give. Without those affections, there is no room for growth and change. Not for any of us. As for you affection toward me, I would tell you that it's unadvisable. My loved ones die, and I am old, withdrawn. My Duchy will go to Timothy's daughter when she's of age. Should I perish in the meantime, Koriand'r and Connor are to be her regents in my place. I won't make a valuable wife or a good queen."

"But would you accept if I asked you to marry me?"

She hesitated. "I don't have that answer for you right now. I'm not certain I could answer 'yes' in good conscience."

"Would you, outside of this shitstorm?"

"I can't forget our context, Arthur."

"Just- Humour me."

She hesitated, the wariness of a wounded animal coming to her eyes. "I find you attractive, incredibly so. It's rare to find someone who can appreciate my strong familial ties, someone who would then still wish to speak with me. I'm despoiled, passed my prime and assertive in a position not normally occupied by women. And yet, you would still have me."

"In a fuckin' heartbeat." He breathed.

"If there was nothing standing in the way, if we were two people free to do as we wished," She stroked over the ridge of his brow tenderly, "then yes, I would accept."

He squeezed her tightly, pressing his face into her shoulder. "Come with me."

"I can't just up and go to Atlantis."

"No, not like that. Just- Let's get out of here for the rest of the night, go anywhere and just roam."

She pressed her cheek to the crown of his head. "My dress isn't fit to wandering, I'm afraid."

"That's fine." He pulled back, hoisting her off the railing and into the cradle of his arms with a roguish smirk. "I've got no issue carrying you."


End file.
